


The Father's son

by BambiRyou, Webtrinsic



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Apologies, Dad!Tony, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Nicknames, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Son!Peter, Stress, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BambiRyou/pseuds/BambiRyou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: Peter faces some hard truths when fighting the Vulture, truths he quickly realizes his father might need to hear as well.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 263





	The Father's son

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_c_perky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_c_perky/gifts).



> This story is for my beautiful friend Annie who is always doing amazing things and I love her so much so this is for her :)
> 
> Thank you Bambi for helping me not go off the hard path on this fic.
> 
> P.S: I'm actually back to somewhat having the drive to write for spider-man, not everything I post will be spider-man obvi since I have other fandoms but I will be back to putting out Spider-Man fics.

Even with his eyes cloudy and watery with smoke, Peter could make out his Uncle Happy reading the sign beside the Vulture’s head. He’d probably known it was him who’d crashed the plane anyway, the problem was it actually being written out acted like a punch to the face, or more accurately a punch to the man’s blood pressure.

It’d be nothing compared to the stress it’d put his father under. Then again, Dad’s protective instincts outweighed his friendships and associations. Peter shuddered at the memory of his dad declining a million dollar deal all because the guy had leered at him.

Of course the guy hadn’t known he was Iron Man’s son, he was a well kept secret and some people did question why some random kid had been chosen to be Tony Stark’s personal intern.  The questioning almost always stopped once they saw how easily they carried a conversation. 

Shivering, Peter thumped his head against the Cyclone’s rickety wood. How would his dad react? He’d been so angry about the boat, this time no one else was involved but he’d still absolutely torn apart a plane filled with valuable cargo.

Peter didn’t want to even think of the lecture, of the onslaught of words that’d likely end in a grounding of a lifetime. Maybe dad wouldn’t let him be Spider-Man anymore, maybe Friday would increase her security measures. 

Sighing, Peter pulled himself up into a stand, wood splintering around his fist as his eyes squeezed themselves shut pushing tears down his face, legs threatening to give out as the world spun.

He wished he hadn’t forgotten his phone in the car, calling his dad would be easier than swinging to the compound with webs he didn't even have. There was always Happy, yet Peter knew why he was also a little grateful he didn’t have his phone to call for help.

In a form of what he wasn’t sure was self-pity or a way to protect himself from conversations he didn’t want to have, he didn’t want to talk to anyone who would fuss over him too soon. He needed to process this on his own even when a childish part in him ached to find his father and bawl into his chest because he’d be safe enough to do so.

Peter wasn’t sure if it was the shock or the impulse itself that brought a startling amount of clarity to wash over him. A truth he didn’t want to admit when all this had begun. He was a kid, not yet out of highschool, who played with legos, and hadn’t even had a first kiss.  The answers he thought he’d had, he didn’t. He’d asked too much of himself and as he looked out over the city filled with fire on the beach combating the rushing waves, in a weird melancholy sort of way; Peter knew that it was okay.

There wasn’t something wrong with him for having been overwhelmed, there was nothing wrong with him for still being overwhelmed. He hadn’t been fair with himself, Peter knew he never had been, but it wasn’t something he’d admit or even think about until now.

A familiar sound tore through the air, a frown gracing his features as he saw the Iron Man suit in the sky, landing on the beach, suit melting off revealing his dad in a tank top and sweats meaning he’d either been trying to sleep or tinkering in the lab beforehand.

That’s not what sent him into a fit of silent tears though, it was the man’s obviously tense shoulders. His own had been so tense lately, aching from strain, from stress and worry. But here his dad was, with tense shoulders that held not only the eyes of the world, the fallout of the Avengers, but also one unruly son who just wanted to do something right when he didn’t exactly know how.

If there was anyone who needed the realization it was okay to be overwhelmed, that it was okay to fall apart, it was okay to be...to not be okay, it was his father. 

His feet slipped then, unable to take the weight of the situation any longer. He’d learned what’d he needed to learn, he’d done what had needed to be done, and now he just wanted his dad. He wanted help, and normally he’d feel guilty for calling upon his father to pick up the pieces especially when his hands were already impaled with the shards of his own problems, but he didn’t because he knew his father would tell him not to be anyway.

The lack of guilt was almost freeing, it wasn’t something he’d gone without much before and it didn’t matter as his body fell from the perilous height of the coaster because before he hit the ground and his vision blacked out completely, he’d been caught.

* * *

His eyes opened feeling dry, eyelashes sticking together for a second only to pull apart with a pinch, a wipe was offered to him by Helen, immediately letting him know he was in the infirmary. 

It took a decent amount of effort in moving his arm to rub them clean before handing her the wipe with a weak smile which she returned. His throat burned, he was sure if he tried to talk he’d end up breathing smoke as if his act of heroism turned him into a dragon.

His head although clogged and filled with cotton didn’t pick up his father’s heart beat in the room, he’d turn his head to check the chair at his bedside but didn’t think he’d be able to keep his head from panging at the action.

His absence alarmed him in a way he’d never felt, the immediate rush of _‘I’m in danger, find dad!’_ firing up in his mind again even when the more sensible part of him was telling him _‘you’re okay you need to stay still.’_ Helen thankfully seemed to pick up on his panic as his eyes began to water and he looked almost frantic.

“Peter, Peter Honey he’s just outside the door on the phone, he hasn’t left your side since he brought you home,” As she said this the tears receded, his breathing still too fast causing his severely bruised ribs to flare and chest to spasm. 

It took several painful breaths to right the pain and for the door to open, his dad stepping in looking alarmed for a moment at him being awake before the defensive mask of Tony Stark slid on and the lecture began.

Ever since he was little he’d heard about how his dad masked emotions so well that he left people quaking in their boots. It could be because he was his son that he saw through the mask so easily, but if Peter was being honest his dad had to know by now that his eyes were very expressive, in fact that’s the reason he was so sure his dad wore sunglasses a majority of the time.

The philanthropist's words were going in one ear out the other as he paced the room, his eyes and the veins in his neck giving everything away. 

“I love you dad,” Peter called out hoarsely, the words choppy and brittle. Immediately his father stopped in his tracks, his rant caught in his throat as his face finally caught up with his eyes and was overtaken with concern.

“I love you too kiddo,” Tony crooned, coming over quickly to the bed and sitting beside the arachnid hero causing the mattress to indent as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to the crown of the boy’s head. His calloused hands coming up to cradle his bruised face, thumb moving up to gently run over the knick on his brow and cut on his lip. 

“I should have gone after him myself,” his father admitted tiredly, the bags under his eyes prominent. Peter shook his head in the man’s hands, the action making him lean more into the hold.

“No, I...I needed to,” it wasn’t a lie. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t have realized his and his father’s dilemma. His eyes seemed to express this as well because his father’s expression changed and then again before nodding.  A warm hand pushing through his bangs before travelling to the back of his neck.

“Lessons learned?” the older man murmured, understanding the sentiment, _ “Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn. My God, do you learn.” _

“Who said that?” The teen murmured, smiling fondly at all the little quotes stored in his father’s head.

“C.S Lewis,” The young arachnid’s eyes fluttered closed, shaking hand reaching up to wrap around the older man’s wrist.

“Dad?”

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“It’s okay,” was all that Peter managed to get out before he fell asleep, his sleepy head figuring he’d have to explain further when he woke up, except Tony understood and no more words would have to be said. They were together and safe, they could finally fall apart.

* * *

The next time he woke Peter quickly realized he’d been returned to his room, wrapped in blankets that weren’t sheet thin, safely tucked underneath someone’s arm. Tilting his head, Peter smiled sadly at his father, still in the same clothes, partially sitting up against the headboard with dried teardrops on his sleeping face. Letting the young hero know his father hadn't made it back to his own room.

More importantly, at least to Peter, his shoulders weren’t tense and his brow wasn’t pinched like it normally was when the older man struggled to sleep. Tugging at the blanket’s covering himself, Peter used an ounce of strength to pull his dad away from the headboard so he could lay down fully.

Tucking the man in, Peter decided to let his father sleep knowing he’d need it and certainly deserved it. Leaving him to rest, Peter padded out of the room, making sure to shut the door before heading to the kitchen, surprised to see Happy holding a grocery bag with his torn in bloodied suit held over the garbage.

“Wait!” A cough soon followed his protest and his ribs ached as he quickly rushed over, taking the bag into his arms, hugging it tightly to his chest.

“Peter!” Happy replied breathlessly, his large hands instantly moving to the teen’s back and shoulder.

“Sorry,” Peter breathed out, a shaky smile on his face as he held the outfit tight.

“No kid, I’m the one who’s sorry,” His pseudo uncle apologized, breath punching out of him as Peter tackled him into a hug.

“It’s okay,” He assured, burying his face into the man’s chest, “Love you,” he murmured into the fabric, remembering when he was little and dad was busy so Happy would carry him around quite often.

“Love you too kid,” Peter pulled away, looking down at the bag in his hand, giving a wave before he set out likely to put them away.

As Happy watched the boy walk down the hall, memorabilia of his first fight and lesson learned in his arms, he was all too aware the boy was his father’s son.

**Author's Note:**

> snap: allisonw1122  
> tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> insta: webtrinsic


End file.
